Bookworms
by Blubbery Blueberry
Summary: They both really loved the library, but they never knew that the library would reward them with reciprocating love from each other... Samione, drabble-esque short chapters.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1:

She pored through the books and loose papers impatiently, scowling when a strand of her unruly hair repeatedly slipped from its place behind her ear and into her face. Normally research and looking through old texts was a heavenly, almost cathartic experience for her but that damned curl kept irritating the sensitive skin of her face. How she wished she had brought a hair-tie or a clip. Or really, how she wished she could simply flick her wand and rearrange her hair magically. Alas, she was in a Muggle library and it was American, to boot. She would be utterly destroying the International Statute of Secrecy if she succumbed to her impulse to blast the curl off her scalp. Sighing after tucking the strand behind her ear once more, she picked up another thick and dusty tome from the pile on her table.

After flipping through the last few decades' almanacs and herbalist calendars moments later, Hermione Granger once again felt the now repulsively familiar itch of hair on her face. Her fingers twitched towards her pocket before a gentle hand stilled her arm and brushed against the side of her face.

When the hand left her face, she turned around with an annoyed look, ready to reprimand whoever had just intruded her personal space. As a powerful duelist and a veteran, her instincts were hard to suppress and whoever had just touched her was remarkably fortunate to catch her off-guard; he would have ended up with bat-bogeys or worse, International law be damned.

"Um," a boy sheepishly smiled. "I couldn't help but notice that you've been having problems with your hair. I had an extra bobby-pin so…"

He lifted a placating hand helplessly when he noticed her rather frightening face.

"I didn't mean to disturb you," he continued when he saw that his explanation calmed her a bit. "But I saw that you have _Encyclopedia of the Occult _and was wondering if I could borrow it?"

Softening but still a bit cross, Hermione nodded. "I've got several questions, if you don't mind. One, why do you carry hair pins?" She eyed his brown hair, which was still short compared to other men's hairstyles she'd encountered such as Lucius Malfoy's long, flowing locks. "And two, why do you need the _Encyclopedia?_"

"You never know when you'll need bobby-pins," he answered evasively, though arguably teasingly as well. "And I'm using that book as a source for one of my school projects. I think I cited something wrong earlier and I just want to double-check that part."

She could tell it was a lie even when it smoothly left his lips. After working as an information-gatherer for the Order, lies became detectable enough for her to sense them as they were spoken. Sometimes, she could even see the wheels turning in the liar's mind before a proper fabrication was even created. Although she was certain that this boy, around her age, was surely an ordinary Muggle and completely innocent, she couldn't help but feel something in her subconscious tingle. His hazel eyes were wide and earnest as he smiled boyishly at her, his height suddenly not as intimidating as it had been.

Deciding to let it pass, Hermione handed the thick book over. "Have fun with it."

He accepted it and to her surprise, sat across from her at the table. He took his laptop out and a notepad, lining up a few pens in preparation to write. A ray of sun trickled through his chestnut brown hair lazily and his brows furrowed in concentration as he began flipping through the _Encyclopedia._

Feeling almost unsettled by his proximity in ways she wasn't certain of, Hermione followed her instincts and began packing her things into her school satchel before spinning on her heels and departing without a second glance at the boy. Her wand was still in its arm-holster as she speed-walked to the library's exit, but she was prepared to draw it at any moment. Though she was almost completely sure that he was an ordinary, if not overly zealous, Muggle student, the way he held himself and the way he had so stealthily walked up to her was not ordinary at all. But she had bigger fish to fry and simply didn't have the time to investigate this somewhat good-looking boy at all, even if he carried himself like a soldier.

-oOo-

He watched as she marched away, curls bouncing merrily as she strode to the door. Normally, he'd be a bit abashed at her obvious rudeness towards him, but he couldn't say he didn't appreciate the view from behind.

It was usually her adorably scrunched up game-face or her half-smiles that he saw for the past few days at the library. He'd first spied her striding purposefully through the aisles with an armful of newspapers and folders just as he was taking a break from his own research on soul-sucking spirits. It was fairly amusing how such a small girl could hold up that many books; he doubted Dean could even handle that much paper. He'd then observed her studying and reading freakishly fast through what seemed to be half the library's archives at the table hidden behind layers and layers of shelves. He couldn't help but appreciate her industriousness and apparent love for research.

Sam Winchester never thought of himself as particularly shy or timid – although Dean sometimes just called him a "pussyfooting bitch" or something along those lines – but seeing this girl made him feel a bit cautious, maybe even a bit more self-conscious. She seemed to be a normal girl, but he couldn't quite place her as ordinary. After Jess, most girls seemed all alike to him, especially the ones Dean involved himself with, but this girl was unusual in many ways, including the fact that he had even noticed and taken an interest in her despite his "emo-kid moments" as of late.

Sighing, he flipped open the book she'd handed to him and was surprised to see a red and gold silk bookmark wedged between the pages. Sweeping through the pages curiously, he found where it was located and was stunned when he realized it was pressed at the entry he needed for his current case.

"A Dementor," he read silently, "is a non-being and Dark creature, considered one of the foulest to inhabit the world. Dementors feed off human happiness, and thus cause depression and despair to anyone near them. They can also consume a person's soul, leaving their victims in a permanent vegetative state, and thus are often referred to as 'soul-sucking fiends' and are known to leave a person as an 'empty-shell' afterwards."

He studied the illustration next to the entry, noticing the frosty painted window and the dead flowers trailing up to the creature with floating black robes.

"Damn, I think that's it…" It was always the deadliest for the Winchesters, apparently. He picked up his cellphone to call Dean. "Yeah, it's a Dementor… Soul-sucking, yep… Yeah, I'll get you your freaking pie."

He got up from his seat and packed his things before his eyes fell on the silk bookmark again. His brows furrowed when he realized that it couldn't just be a coincidence that she had marked this particular section of the thick tome just when there was a Dementor problem in the neighborhood. Things were never that accidental or clean-cut in his world. He hesitated a bit before taking the bookmark from the encyclopedia and slipping it into his jacket pocket carefully. Maybe she was a hunter, too? It was quite likely, as it explained her researching for days and the fact that she even picked up this particular text.

His phone beeped again and he saw his brother's name flashing on the screen.

"What?" he asked rather brusquely. "Yeah, I'm getting your pie. Have I ever forgotten your pie?"

Sam Winchester left the library, bantering with his older brother impatiently, while one of his hands stayed in his pocket fingering the silk bookmark thoughtfully. Maybe, just maybe, he'd be able to see this girl again before he left this town.


	2. Chapter 2

chapter 2:

"DEAN!" Sam yelled as he saw his brother suddenly drop to the ground on his knees.

His brother seemed almost breathless, eyes watering with something that looked a lot like tears and anguish. "Sammy, just go and get the other kids! I'm fine!"

Torn between his desire to help his brother and his job to save the children still trapped in the area, Sam found it difficult to leave his brother on the ground. A scream of terror from upstairs assisted with his decision-making and he bounded up the staircase with his shotgun loaded and cocked.

When he found the source of the cry, he was suddenly overcome with images he had long banished from his conscious. A scream, a flash of yellow eyes, flames, long blonde hair, more fire burning brighter and brighter…. He blinked and he could see the black robes and empty sockets of the Dementor gliding towards him mutely, but his knees had gone out and his arms had no strength to lift his gun at all. It felt like all his energy had been sapped from him, like he'd never be happy again. All he wanted was for things to be finished and so he could be free.

Something just then inside of him stirred, a part of him he knew existed but never wanted to acknowledge, and it was what gave him the strength to lift his gun just enough to aim. Pouring all his might into his weakened fingers, he fired several salt-bullets consecutively, blindly hoping that his actions would distract the creature long enough for the children to escape. He heard their teary whimpers and their gulping gasps of breath from the corner of the room, but none made a single movement of escape or resistance from the hooded figure. They were all paralyzed with terror and memories, just as he was.

The bullets neither struck nor distracted the Dementor at all, to his dismay, and he heard several thuds in the wall behind it as if they had just pierced through air. A grimy, skeletal hand reached from under an airy black sleeve towards his face and his vision blurred again before regaining focus abruptly as if some part of him was rejecting the creature's influence. His temples throbbed painfully as it fought against the sudden rush of nightmares flooding his brain and he saw yellow eyes and fire again. His eyes looked down and he saw something leaving him and being sucked towards the gaping hole that was most likely the Dementor's mouth. He wasn't sure what the obviously intangible but strangely dense substance was, but he hoped it wasn't his soul.

Sam stuck his hand out reflexively to halt the creature's progress as it came precariously closer and he was shocked to see that the action did indeed somewhat stop it in its tracks. Its hooded head tilted in an almost ridiculously curious manner as it peered at him from under the black cloth.

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

Something silver and light as air swished over his half-crouched body before a burst of light blinded him and suddenly his heart felt lighter. When he opened his eyes again, he immediately reached for his gun but didn't see the Dementor in the room anymore.

"Are you alright?" a gentle female voice lulled over his ears.

He snapped his head at the sound and pointed the gun at the speaker quickly. Wide brown eyes looked at him cautiously from the other side of the barrel. They were familiar, as were the long brown curls decorating her shoulders, and he felt his hold on the gun loosen.

"Are you alright?" she repeated slowly, eying the gun. Her hand was in her pocket and he wondered if maybe she had a weapon in there too.

"Yeah," he said hoarsely. Clearing his throat, he stood up. "Why are you here?"

She chuckled lightly when she saw him put the shotgun away. "I had to get out of the library sometime."

He gave a smile at her response although he knew that it wasn't the real reason why she was here. Her appearance was too convenient, too risky for him. Maybe she wasn't a hunter and was really a poor, possessed girl who had led demons and dark creatures here to ambush him and his brother.

She reached into a little beaded bag she'd hung over her shoulder and he couldn't stop the reflexive reach for his own weapon. She noticed, but continued digging through the purse anyway. After a few awkward moments of staring and searching, she tossed something at him.

He caught it easily and stared at the colorfully wrapped chocolate bar in his hand, perplexed.

"It's chocolate," she explained as she took out a few more bars of chocolate from her purse and gave them to the still pale-looking children on the floor. "Eat some; it'll make you feel better."

Dubiously glancing at the candy, Sam asked, "Where's the Dementor?"

She smiled enigmatically before turning to soothe the children. Giving them gentle pats and warm smiles, she handed each of them each a half-bar of chocolate. Their faces, so frightened and white as sheet before, grinned happily back at her with the beginnings of a healthy complexion returning when they bit into the chocolate.

A cough from the doorway spun everyone's attention.

"Didn't your mamas ever tell you that you shouldn't accept candy from strangers?" Dean said cockily, his body leaning on the doorframe casually. "And Sammy, I'm sure as hell Dad mentioned that too at some point."

Even though his positioning looked disinterested and indolent, Sam could tell that his brother was exhausted from whatever effects the Dementor had. He was barely holding himself up. The glint in Dean's pale green eyes also told Sam that he wasn't ready to end the hunt just yet.

"That's right," the girl agreed easily. "You really shouldn't, but everyone knows me already, I believe."

"Miss Potter!" cried out a few of the children happily.

Dean turned to his younger brother, eyebrow cocking.

"I… uh… saw her at the library a couple times," Sam explained.

At this, Hermione frowned before responding teasingly. "And you only came to talk to me once?"

Dean snorted. "British lady, I think I like you, but we should have a little grownup talk away from the midgets here."

She shook her head. "I'm supposed to go meet someone in a few minutes, I'm afraid."

Dean's eyes narrowed suspiciously before tipping his head slightly to the right. "It'll only take a few seconds, I promise you."

Before she could move or retort, Sam lunged up and grabbed both her arms swiftly. She fought a bit, but when she saw the children's wide eyes, she gave them a reassuring smile and relaxed into Sam's tight grip as best she could.

"We're going to borrow Miss Potter for a bit, alright?" Sam told the children as he led her towards the doorway. He tried to ignore her soft warmth as he attempted to subtly push her into the hall.

As soon as they were out of ear and eyeshot, she found her cheek rubbing uncomfortably on the wooden wall with her hands twisted under someone's large and rough hand.

"Tell us who you are!"

She presumed that it was Dean, because he seemed a lot more aggressive and rough than his companion, the library connoisseur.

"Hermione," she said simply, not even trying to fight him.

"Okay, then, _what _are you?" he demanded and she felt the barrel of a gun pressed by her temple.

"A rather pissed off young lady," Hermione told him indifferently.

Sam saw his brother's jaw clench with even more frustration towards this girl.

"Um, Dean?" he prodded his brother gently. "I think we should try a different tactic?"

"OH yeah, I forgot. This chick's yours, right Sammy?" Dean said, handing her wrists over to Sam.

Sam released her instead, trusting her to not attack him although Dean protested behind him. He didn't know why, but he was sure she wasn't anything dangerous to him. All the same, he made sure to block all paths to an exit with his body.

"Thanks," she said, rubbing her forearms awkwardly.

"Look," he started just as uncomfortably. "I'm sorry for all of this, but it's all a precaution. You just showed up out of nowhere and there was this light and that _thing _just disappeared. We just need to know if you had anything to do with that."

Her face was unreadable, but her intelligent cinnamon eyes just stared at him calculatedly as if weighing the benefits of telling him something or not.

"No, I'm not involved with that _thing,_" she said delicately. "But… You could see it?"

Both brothers gave a strange look at her.

"Why wouldn't we be able to? We ain't blind, if that's what you're talkin' about," Dean said almost disdainfully.

She shook her head. "You shouldn't have been able to see that Dementor at all if…"

Trailing off, she bit her lip worriedly. She'd torn some of the skin between her teeth as if she bit it a bit too often and a droplet of blood formed at the fissure. Sam found himself a bit distracted by the crimson framed by pale pink. Her eyes wouldn't meet theirs and her hand was twitching as if it wanted to grab something.

"… If?" encouraged Sam after breaking his gaze from her rosebud mouth, knowing that at least using the gentle approach towards this girl was getting them somewhere. She obviously didn't respond well to force.

"Um…" she obviously knew something they didn't and wasn't saying it.

"Spit it out!"

Sam sighed; Dean wasn't the epitome of gentleness or patience and someday, he was sure that this would cause his older brother some kind of trouble.

Laying a kind hand on her shoulder, Sam tried to calm her anxiety. "You can tell us, even if it's weird or strange. We're used to that."

"Well, that's the thing. Maybe you're _too _used to that kind of stuff," she said hesitantly. "Because you wouldn't have been able to see a Dementor at all if you were normal humans."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

Both Winchesters stared at the girl they had tucked between them and the wall. Dean began cleaning out his ears just to be sure that what she said wasn't just something he hallucinated up due to forty years in Hell. Sam just stuck with his stare.

"…What do you mean by 'normal humans,' Hermione?" Sam asked cautiously.

Dean took out his silver flask of holy water and a silver knife from his jacket pocket as subtly as he could – which really wasn't subtle at all. Hermione eyed his sudden movements warily before slowly reaching for something in her pocket as well.

"I mean exactly what I said. You two could see the Dementor and you're not supposed to!"

"So you're saying you're not normal either?" Dean demanded roughly before unclasping the flask and splashing Hermione straight in the face with the water.

Unfortunately, Hermione had just started to speak and her mouth was open enough to shape words. The water thus hit her not only in the face but also the back of her throat, causing a massive fit of coughing and wheezing.

"Dean, what the fuck?" Sam cried, panicking as she turned tomato red.

"She could be a demon, Sammy!" Dean protested. "Look at her, the water's affecting her and sizzling off!"

"No, it isn't! She's _choking,_ dude!"

"Yeah, yeah, likely story. She's either pretending to be choking while actually being burned by holy water or somethin' like that! Demons trick people!"

"Um, are you alright?" Sam turned away from his brother. "Sorry, he's just a bit… overeager."

Hermione nodded, her breaths gradually returning to a normal pace. Her hand still didn't leave her pocket, but her arm seemed less stiff and ready to spring to action.

"S'okay, I have a lot of tolerance for this bullshit," she replied, still gasping a bit.

The curse fell from her lips awkwardly as if she didn't often use such language to express herself. It sounded odd paired with her accent, Sam thought, like seeing the Queen of England eating barbequed ribs with her hands. She gently rubbed at her chest again, trying to ease the burn in her lungs somehow.

"I just meant," Hermione continued. "You aren't normal humans. You're still humans, but you've got something else in you… Magic. Like me."

"Magic?" Sam inquired.

"Like _you?"_ Dean said incredulously.

Hermione huffed a bit impatiently. "Yeah. Only those with magical blood can see Dementors. I can see them because I'm a witch. That makes you two of magical blood as well, okay?"

"You're a witch?" both brothers looked at her, the elder with a derisive tone and the younger with a curious glance.

"Yes, I'm a witch. I'm born magical and I guess you both are, too," she said, eyeing Dean cautiously as he crept slightly closer, silver dagger in hand. "You better not try to stab me with that. I've no problems with silver, but I don't like pointy things like that near me."

He snorted before grabbing her hand. "Born magical? Alright, just one more test, witchy witch."

Gingerly, he slid the finest edge of the knife down her index finger almost too delicately to be characteristic of Dean at all. A droplet of blood slid down the pale skin and Hermione quickly wiped it on Dean's leather jacket without a single flinch.

"What the fuck?"

"Serves you right. You just don't get rough with a girl like that on a first meeting," she told him primly. "I trust you're all satisfied with that?"

Dean glared at her while trying to get the blood out of his leather.

"As I was saying, you're clearly of magical descent like me. I don't understand how, because you don't seem like American wizards, but there's no way you aren't. I think I'll have to talk to the embassy about this…"

"Look, Hermione, we're not witches –" Sam cut in.

Hermione groaned. "– I should hope not –"

"We're ordinary humans, but we're hunters," he continued. "We hunt supernatural beings."

"Like witches," Dean added helpfully.

"Mm-hmm, I see," Hermione said, ignoring Dean. "My best speculation is that you're Squibs. You don't seem to have any outward magic at least, or any training. You use Muggle weapons."

The two looked slightly offended by being called Squibs though they had no idea what it meant. She continued muttering a bit to herself before finally swiveling something out of her pocket. Both brothers backed away and twitched towards their guns.

"Alright, it was quite lovely to chat with you and all, but I really must be going. Goodbye," she smiled sweetly at them before turning onto her heel and disappearing with a sharp crack, leaving the Winchesters frozen in shock.

-oOo-

"Yes, may I speak to whomever is in charge of the magical being archives?" Hermione asked the receptionist cordially.

The woman behind the desk smirked. She was dressed in Muggle clothes – a lot more skillfully than many back in England – that consisted of a leather jacket and a low-cut crop-top. Hermione wondered if this was really the dress-code here in America or if professionalism was just as nonexistent as the woman's skirt.

"Sorry, Mr. Churchill isn't here at the moment," the tart said. "I can relay a message, maybe, or make you an appointment?"

"Tell Robert that it's Hermione Granger asking for him," Hermione smiled saccharinely. "Or perhaps I'll Floo him myself later."

The receptionist blanched. "Perhaps he's still in, I'll send a message. May I interest you in a gillywater as you wait?"

Hermione shook her head, wishing that her American counterpart would just hurry and sate her curiosity about the two men she had met earlier. They were of magical descent and yet they hadn't a clue about it and reacted very badly to the fact that she was a witch. There was murderous intent in Dean's eyes when he heard the word fall from her lips and Hermione recognized it immediately as it formed in his green eyes. It was the same kind of violent hatred felt by Death Eaters towards her, the same kind of piercing disgust. Sam seemed a bit more agreeable, but she couldn't deny the mistrust in his gaze either. It was strange how repulsed they seemed to be towards witches and apparently being possible magical beings themselves.

"Hermione, how's America?"

She looked up and saw Robert Churchill, her rank equivalent at the Department of the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures in the American wizarding government. He smiled when she stood up and shook his hand.

"It's been lovely," Hermione told him. "Except for the part where I found a Dementor in the middle of a children's daycare center, actually. I had to go up and send a Patronus at it with a couple of children watching me. Of course, everything was taken care of properly, but I wanted to know about something."

He chuckled as he led her to his office. "Yeah, Hermione Granger wanting to know something is totally unusual. Well, what is it?"

"I met two men earlier today. They were at the Dementor scene, with guns in their hands and apparently they could _see _it. They called themselves hunters of the supernatural," she said.

Robert quirked a grey brow. "Ah, they're hunters."

"But they said they were humans and they… tried to hurt me when they heard I was a witch. I told them that they must've had magical blood in them, too, if they could see it."

Nodding, the middle-aged wizard waved his wand with a light flourish. "Yep, they're descended from Squibs. Most of these hunters are from long bloodlines of Squibs, actually. Funny how they hate the magical world so much when they're part of it. Their blood attracts supernatural problems and they deal with it by killin' anything supernatural.

"Their ancestors were most likely Squibs exiled from magical societies in Europe. Belief in magic was easy wipe out after a few generations, a conditioned dislike of magic, and the witch-hunts that happened a lot in this country. The population of magical-born folk is too small and stretched across a lot of space, too, so I suppose that played a role as well."

She frowned. "But that doesn't explain their strong aversion to me. This all happened to their ancestors, not them."

"Well, actually, we have a small problem with Muggles trading their souls with demons... As you know, we're given our magic through blood. I'm guessing that we were rewarded by angels, since we're just so completely different from this other strain of magical-practitioners. They sell their souls for power, you see, while we're born with it. They're normal humans but the demons tempt them enough to commit all sorts of crazy things… Murder, fatal curses, that kind of thing. And in the end, these humans are utterly corrupted and then dragged to hell."

"Oh," Hermione nodded in understanding. Her eyes widened. "But I don't seem to have heard of cases like this back in England."

"It's unique to most of the decentralized wizarding governments, I think. We don't have a big magical population here either so man-power isn't our forte. We can't cover much ground," Robert said regretfully. "You guys are able to protect your Muggles from demons without having anyone really learn much about the fake witches. I think it's under your Department of Mysteries…"

Hermione nodded. "So, those guys don't know about witches and wizards like us, then?"

Robert shook his head. "Nah, we lay low around hunters. They choose to shoot first, ask questions later."

-oOo-


	4. Chapter 4

-oOo-

"Man, when I find that witchy bitch!"

Sam looked up from the bookmark he found slipped inside the encyclopedia earlier. He hadn't noticed before, but there was a lion stitched into the silk. Sometimes, when he lifted it up into better lighting, he could swear that it moved. A whisker twitching or a paw brushing something, yet he could never be entirely sure.

"Calm down, Dean. She didn't do anything to us and she probably saved us from that Dementor thing. Maybe she's a nice witch."

"Sammy, there are _no _nice witches. Only the horrible, disgusting ones dripping bodily fluids and chucking hex bags everywhere. And we hunt those," Dean replied, kicking the waste-basket by his bed. "She probably summoned that thing to suck out kids' souls. Sounds like her M.O., so why not?"

He sighed before getting up from his seat. Tucking the bookmark back into his jacket, Sam strode to the door. "I'm getting some lunch. Want anything?"

"Uh, if they have the newest issue of Busty Asian Beauties, that would be ace. Ooh, and bring pie back."

Another sigh escaped Sam. Giving his brother one last glance, he shut the door behind him and shoved his hands into his pockets. Sometimes he wondered if Dean was really the older brother.

A couple minutes later, he saw a relatively promising diner and he went in. The scent of grease, grilling meat, and milkshakes danced through his senses before his stomach gave a grumble reminding him of his actual mission here.

"Hello, my name is Sarah and I'll be your server today…"

He barely took a glance at the waitress before catching sight of curly brown hair in the booth a few yards away. He ignored the woman's recommendations of what to order as he squinted slightly to see the familiar pale skin and pink lips of Hermione Potter.

"Uh yeah, sorry, a chicken sandwich and I'm here with her," Sam said to the waitress while pointing at Hermione.

The server looked a bit put-out at his words, but redirected him to Hermione's booth anyway. She handed him a menu before offering the man sitting several seats away a new cup of coffee.

"Ahem," Sam coughed a bit to get her attention.

"Oh. Hey," she said absentmindedly after she looked up for a second. "Hang on, I've got to translate this last bit here…"

He waited for a few minutes until she put down her pen.

"Er, you're Sammy, right?" Hermione looked up at him awkwardly when she realized it was him. "The hunter."

"Yeah, it's Sam actually," he laughed nervously. "But I'm not here to hunt you. Just curious, actually."

"About what?"

He took out the bookmark from his pocket. "This is witchcraft, right? It moves."

"Ah, my bookmark. Was wondering where it went," she remarked. "It's not witchcraft, really. It's a magical artifact, though not really what comes to mind as actual magic."

"So… You said you're born a witch?" he asked. "We haven't come across any of those. Just ones who sell their souls for magic and then hell."

"Well, the born-ones are a bit too clever to be hunted down, you know. After the witch-trials all those centuries ago, they learned to stay out of the way. These demon affiliated ones are new at this and also corrupted by demonic essences, so they're really different from people like me," Hermione said. "People like us."

"What did you mean by that?"

She sighed. "You're descended from Squibs. Those with magical blood but no outward abilities. Still human, but something else."

Sam's eyes darkened as he remembered his demonic blood. "Just to be clear, you didn't sell your soul for magic to a demon, right?"

"Yeah," Hermione agreed. "I'd rather die than hand my soul over to a demon, power or not."

A plate of pancakes and eggs suddenly split their conversation.

"Go on, sorry for interrupting," an elderly lady with dyed red hair winked as she put two straws in the chocolate milkshake Hermione had ordered.

Both of them blinked before realizing that they'd been edging closer and closer together as they talked. It had been a subconscious desire to keep their conversation secret and away from unwanted ears, but they realized that it could've been interpreted as something else completely by those same unwanted ears. Almost immediately, they returned to their original postures even though they still felt strangely more comfortable with each other than they should've been.

"Is there any magic you can show us? Stuff that doesn't need a demonic chant or hex-bags?"

Glad to have broken the awkwardness her meal's arrival had given, Hermione nodded. "Yes, but I can't show you anything in front of Muggles. It'll break magical law in at least my country; I'm not sure how American wizards deal with showing magic in front of Muggles. I'm sure there's at least some sort of punishment, however."

They agreed that Hermione would show him a few tricks later in the Impala or the motel room if Dean wasn't too intrusive. Unfortunately the tail-ends of their conversation caught the ears of their server, who placed Sam's sandwich and a generous slice of pie on the table.

"On the house," she smiled knowingly before adding several piles of whipped cream. "I know how young couples enjoy... dessert."

"Er, thanks?" Hermione said helplessly as the woman floated away gleefully. "I don't understand America at all."

Sam smiled weakly. "This isn't really normal in America. But I guess it's better than being mistaken as a couple with Dean – that's been happening a lot more often than I'm comfortable with."

"Why? There's nothing wrong with that," Hermione said curiously.

"He's my brother. That's pretty wrong," Sam replied.

"You don't act very alike, but then I've seen a couple siblings who acted pretty differently back at school," Hermione recalled the likes of Fred and George compared to prissy Percy.

"School? Normal school or did you have a magic school?" Sam inquired interestedly.

The thought of her academics and school-life seemed to brighten her smile. "I attended both, since I'm Muggle-born. My parents are both dentists. I had magic since birth – turning my hair bright red and levitating books and breaking the china accidentally – but they didn't know about magic until I turned eleven, which is when I received a letter invitation to Hogwarts, the best school of magic there is in Europe."

An hour or two passed by as they exchanged a few stories about their respective childhoods. They didn't stray beyond too many personal lines, but both found themselves enjoying the conversation immensely, which was rather ironic and unexpected due to their statuses as hunter and witch.

Sam had nearly forgotten the time until his phone buzzed in his pocket, his brother's name flashing angrily on the front screen.

"Excuse me," he said to Hermione, who had been explaining what Arithmancy was and its relations to mathematics. He turned away slightly before speaking into the phone. "No, they didn't have Busty Asian Beauties. No, I didn't forget. I'm just hungry. Dude, I didn't get lost. Listen, I found Hermione and she agreed to show us some magic. No, I'm not insane. Okay, Dean, calm down. She fought off that Dementor thing, maybe she can help us with that. God, don't sharpen the knives! Okay, fine, bye."

When he turned back, he saw Hermione's lips quirk in an amused fashion.

"Shall we go?" she asked, gesturing for a different server to give her a takeaway box for the pie.

The matchmaking waitress returned, chiding Sam in a motherly way when Hermione decided to pay for their meal together. It frankly made Sam a bit uncomfortable, even if it was a completely accidental meeting and not a date at all, to have her pay the bill, but she'd insisted quite fiercely by claiming that it was her booth they were both sitting in.

His only advantage was that she wasn't quite as familiar with American dollar bills as with her natural currency so the few seconds of her delayed counting was just enough to slide his fake credit card to the beaming waitress covertly.

By the time they left the diner, the sun was just hovering along the horizon, painting the skies a lovely violet and orange. Something about the light made her eyes glow a whiskey or golden colored hue. He supposed that it should've reminded him of the Yellow-Eyed demon, but hers were warm and unearthly like a celestial being's. There didn't seem to be anything demonic about her, contrary to the other witches he had encountered on his hunting adventures. It was really strange, how something like her could exist in the supernatural world, where he had once been certain only evil reigned. Of course, there were angels he'd met, but the only apparently decent one had been Castiel and even he had his questionable moments.

They walked alongside each other companionably, chatting a bit about everything – Shakespeare, theories of evolution, wizarding law, her parents, and his studies at Stanford – and before they realized it, they arrived at the motel where both Winchesters resided.

Sam was going to open the door for Hermione before swiftly realizing that Dean would probably aim another gun at her the moment he saw her.

"Oh, hey Sam, I found Magic Fingers again – Wait, why is she here?"

She looked at him, unimpressed at the rifle he had aimed at her head. "I'm only here because Sam asked me to be."

"And why would he do _that?"_ asked Dean even though he lowered the gun a bit.

"I wanted to see how she performs magic. She has a wand and we've never seen other witches use wands," Sam explained. "It's best we know how it works and looks like in case we see another of her kind again."

Hermione smiled gratefully before her face turned grim. "Not every witch or wizard of my kind is good or kind to Muggles or other non-magical beings. They won't have made deals with demons, but they're going to Hell when they die just the same."

Something in her face reminded Sam of Dean, of his father, and of himself. A pair of eyes darkened with the taint of death and unspeakable things, a being who has experienced the blackness of what life could bring. It wasn't a mark he found often in faces, especially civilian ones, but he could tell she wasn't a bystander or an innocent. Dean's jaw tightened and Sam could tell that Dean suddenly reevaluated the witch, a newborn respect growing hesitantly in pale green eyes.

"But as a witch of the Light, I do believe that I should show you some of the most fascinating pieces of magic I've ever seen. When I was eleven, I was terribly shocked and pleased with myself when I learned to do this," Hermione grinned before giving her wand a graceful swish and flick. "_Wingardium Leviosa!"_

The pie box in Sam's hands suddenly lurched from its position and floated up towards the ceiling. She twirled her wand and the box followed the patterns it carved into the air before it landed softly by the bed Dean was sitting on.

"Whoa, that was awesome!" Sam exclaimed, his face smiling boyishly in awe. "What else can you do?"

Dean hesitantly prodded the paper box before opening it and seeing his beloved slice of pie inside, somewhat disfigured and soggy with liquefying whipped cream.

"Sammy, did you bring a fork?"

Hermione waved her wand again before a silver fork dropped into Dean's lap.

Curiously, Sam asked, "You didn't say an incantation just now. Don't you always have to?"

Hermione looked down a bit bashfully before saying, "Non-verbal spells are more difficult to execute effectively so not many witches and wizards are skilled enough to always silently cast enchantments. I'm fairly good at non-verbal castings, but when I need an extra boost of strength in a spell, I say it aloud. The floating spell from before was more of a demonstration."

"Could you show us how you got rid of that Dementor?"

Dean, despite himself, looked curiously at the wooden stick in her hand as she raised it.

"_Expecto Patronum_," she murmured before a beam of silver light left the end of her wand and began forming into a small otter.

Both brothers flinched as the wee creature approached them playfully but the pure happiness it radiated was infectious and they soon found themselves smiling fondly at the otter's looping and gliding along the walls.

"A bit of a show-off, my Patronus," Hermione said exasperatedly before deactivating the summoning. "But it does chase away Dementors so I can't complain much."

"It only chases away those things?" Dean asked her, a scandalized expression forming on his face. "That Dementor could be out there sucking souls out of innocent people right now!"

"Patronus charms chase away the Dementor, weakening it, so it wouldn't be able to do anything to anyone as of this moment," Hermione soothed him. "But I'll have to find it again and have my department secure it for removal later on. I'm actually here to find the Dementor breeding grounds. My sources have all said that this particular town is dangerously close to where a spawn-den is located and so there might be more than one Dementor."

"More than one?" Sam echoed, remembering how helpless he felt in the Dementor's presence. "You do have backup, right?"

She shrugged. "I'm the only one here for now, I guess. I'm more of a scout but as the best of my department, I'm also assigned to most of the field-work. Meaning I'm going in on my own."

Even Dean seemed skeptical and possibly concerned. "Are you sure? We can help."

"That would be lovely," Hermione began. "But you're liabilities if you can't perform a Patronus, I'm sorry to say. Magic is needed to battle against them."

Sam frowned, uncomfortable that a small girl – witch or no witch – was going to face these hellish things alone. "We have this knife that can kill pretty much everything. Maybe it'll be useful."

Dean scowled as Sam mentioned their secret weapon to a near-stranger.

"To be safe, I don't think you should come," Hermione told them both firmly. "Even if you have this enchanted knife, we're not even sure if a Dementor has something substantial beneath its robes for you to stab. You read the encyclopedia, I assume? I don't want you to be empty husks because the Dementor Kissed you."

The three stared at each other with similar platitudes of stubbornness before Hermione reached into the beaded bag hanging from her shoulder.

"Is it alright if I stayed here for a few days? My own hotel seems to have messed up my arrangements and I no longer have a room there," she asked them while digging furiously into the purse. Her arm was swallowed entirely by the mouth of the bag, leaving both a horrifying and a comical image for Dean and Sam to see. "I was planning to camp out instead, but I think I'd prefer being inside and physically hidden. I'm also going to be in close proximity to town. This way is almost normal."

She seemed to give up before flourishing her wand again. A bag of poles and canvas flew up and landed on the floor near Sam's double bed. Another quick flick and the metal poles set themselves under the canvas, propping the cloth so that a rudimentary tent was formed.

Dean gave her handiwork an incredulous stare before turning to his younger brother and mouthing, "_Almost normal?"_

Sam could only shrug helplessly back as he saw the tent straighten by itself.

"I'll be pretty comfortable here, actually," she chirped cheerfully, after she stuck her head out from the tent flaps. "Plenty of room, if you don't mind sacrificing some of your space for me. Well, I'm a bit tired and would like a bit of rest now. Good night."

There was a zipping sound and then complete silence.

"Sammy… You really know how to choose 'em," Dean snorted before he retrieved the conjured silver fork and the pie. Magic apparently did not stop him from consuming the dessert.

-oOo-


End file.
